


Wasting Time in Bathrooms

by Ritzy_bird



Series: #Buy Jean An Actual Dildo 2k16 [2]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Love Letters, M/M, Other, romantic pining, thirst, using a household item that is not a dildo as a dildo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-30
Updated: 2016-01-30
Packaged: 2018-05-17 01:19:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5848279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ritzy_bird/pseuds/Ritzy_bird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Months have passed since Jean last masturbated, which is a long time for a 16 year old boy with a boat load of school stress and sexual tension for his best friend. Jean finally gets the confidence to try and romantically involve himself with Marco, so he decides to "reward" himself with some private time. Private time meaning, realizing that razor blade handles have a very unique shape that could be used as dildos.</p><p>*Jean uses the razor HANDLE, he doesn't use the razor blade at all in any way. No gore smut here folks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wasting Time in Bathrooms

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dollyboy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dollyboy/gifts).



> If you thought Jean would stop sinning you were wrong. This is going to be a relatively short series though, because there's only so many ways you can write Jean being an awkward hormone crazed dork who thinks "this non-dildo thing is going straight up my ass" before you get into Unrealistic and Painful territory.

There were three overly emotional settings that Jean believed he had; Uncontrollable anger, being horny enough to use questionable means to orgasm, and filthy, disgusting adoration. He hadn't felt much of the first two for at least a couple of months, and maybe that was because Jean had sworn to stop sinning after he furiously fucked himself with a banana. Whatever it was, he was in a period of time where things were relatively normal. No masturbating, no throwing things across the room only to quickly pick it back up and put it away before his mom came in and saw, he wasn't even struggling _that much_ with school work.

Recently, though, things changed. It was very rare and very random, but sometimes Jean would just be overwhelmed with affectionate feelings for something or someone. It wasn't really love, not to Jean. As he would put it, it's being horny, but with the heart. Jean always had had different feelings for his best friend, Marco, since Jean was only 12. That was when puberty was really hitting, and he learned in more detail what sex was. Unfortunately for him, he was sexually _and_ romantically attracted to the person who he only ever saw as a friend before.

But his regular romantic feelings for Marco kicked into overdrive when Jean felt this weird flurry of adoration. He couldn't explain why or how it happened, but he would just lie in his bed for hours fantasizing about Marco just holding hands with him, or kissing him, or looking into Jean's eyes. Jean would toss and turn at night, his back and arms literally itching to be touched and held. As much as Jean definitely wanted to have sex with Marco, all he could think about was cuddly romantic bullshit to the extreme and it drove him mad.

Talking to Marco became a pain, because Jean wouldn't be able to take his eyes off of him. Jean made a constant effort to be physically closer to Marco as much as possible, and he couldn't contain his smiles when Marco was around, talking, or just mentioned by somebody else. Jean absolutely hated it. Handling boners and lust when Jean was ready to fuck a wall if it had a stick pointing out of it, was simple for him. Hiding his romantic feelings during this weird desire for affection? It was Hell on Earth. Jean had the desperate urge to lean in towards Marco and kiss him, or just rest his head on Marco's shoulder.

Jean believed it was just as disgusting and shameful as masturbating, because there was no way he could make it go away. No way to relieve his ravenous hunger for spooning. When he was horny he could masturbate, or watch porn, or just pinch himself until his boner went away because he's not into that BDSM pain stuff. But there was absolutely nothing he could do to make the ugly butterflies go away that were in his stomach, heart, lungs, brain, and practically everywhere all over his body.

 

Jean's current, short term problem was staring right back at him. He was at his desk, chatting with Marco on skype at 2 a.m. as they both ignored their homework. He stared at the screen, leaning his head on his hand and staring at the last thing Marco had written.

> "you need to go to sleep lol"

It meant absolutely nothing special whatsoever, but Jean's head was spinning with the thought of how much Marco cared about him. It was an overreaction and Jean was on the verge of fantasizing, but he just couldn't help it. Marco cared about him. Which to Jean, meant Marco might have the capacity to love him romantically. A huge jump, a stupid conclusion to rush to, but it filled Jean with hope and inspiration.

Underneath the cynicism and obsession with masturbation and the idea of sex, Jean was actually a sort of hopeless romantic. And times like these, where he was consumed by adoration, were when that part of him shined the most. Jean was also an artist. Not a good one, but he loved trying anyway. Jean wanted Marco to know how much he felt about him, but Jean was never _good_ at actually being romantic in any way. Dating was never something he was good at, and it still wasn't.

He told Marco goodnight and immediately ripped through drawer after drawer until he could scrounge up everything he needed. It was mostly basic materials, paper, pen, colored pencils, scissors. Jean was going to make Marco the best damn love letter in the world, and then he'd hand make an envelope and shove it in Marco's locker tomorrow morning at school. Jean was convinced that it was the perfect plan. Because the last time Jean had a perfect idea, it went so well. Not that Jean could even think of such awful things now.

Jean shoved all his soda cans into a spare shopping bag, and shoved the rest of the clutter on his desk onto the floor. He would remember to clean that up some other time. There were so many things Jean wanted to say, but at the same time, he wanted this letter to be anonymous. He wanted to see how Marco would react to the words from an objective perspective. Not seeing it as his best friend's words, but as the words of a person who loves him. Which was why he chose such basic materials, if he used any of his "fancier" things, Marco would figure out who made the letter. Using basic shit was the way to go.

The question for Jean now was, what was he going to write? Poetry? He wasn't particularly good at poetry, and he wasn't sure if Marco even cared about poetry either. Should he just write a simple statement of "I love you" and get to the point? Maybe he should just write about how cute he thinks, no, _knows_ he is?

In art, Jean recognized that motivation meant nothing without inspiration, so he turned to his computer files to find some pictures of Marco to in a way remind him of what he loved about Marco. Not that he really needed a reminder, but he was thinking of too much amazing things at once, some focused inspiration was what he needed. But, as Jean looked through all the photos on his computer, he only sunk in his seat and let his head drop onto his desk.

"He's so cute. Oh my god he's _so cute_ hnnhn. I'm fucked. I'm fucked I can't do this." Jean whispered to himself, cursing the idea to look through the images. Marco, so stupid with his goofy haircut and his pretty brown eyes and his damn freckles. Freckles. Marco had freckles. Really _cute_ freckles.

Jean sat back up and looked down at his supplies and inhaled. What he was about to do was probably stupid, and Marco might just laugh at the letter when he finds it, but it was a good starting point to Jean.

* * *

 Morning had arrived, and Jean never ran so fast to school before in his entire life. Well, it was sort of running. It was running for 2 minutes and then doing that weird walk-run thing people do on cross-walks for the rest of the way. So, not really running at all, but in Jean's mind, he was running. How couldn't he? Marco lived further away from the high school and so he was forced to take a bus every morning. Whether he got there before or after Jean was a coin flip.

He arrived at school out of breath, stumbling up the stairs and through the front doors a little too fast. Jean froze in his tracks and backed up against a wall, taking a moment to breathe and compose himself. If he was going to do this, he had to make sure _no one saw him_. Which was hard because, sure he was there early but there were still students and teachers in the hallways. All Jean could do now was pull the hood on his jacket up and look as far down as possible without being completely blind.

When Jean reached the hallway with Marco's locker in it, he slipped away into the nearest bathroom for a moment. He pulled the letter out of his backpack and looked it over, making sure it was still as perfect as when he had carefully tucked it into his bag the night before. Jean refused to check the inside of the letter again, to avoid being embarrassed, but he did smooth his hands over the front of it. He'd folded the paper in half like a card, and used scissors to make a cute wavy pattern on one of the card edges. Jean was proud of it _and_ the stupid little hearts he drew on the front of it, in fact he thought it'd be a five dollar card at any Papyrus card store it was that cute. Cute, like Marco.

Jean pushed the card back into the envelope he'd made and sighed as he looked at his reflection in the mirror. All he could think was how gross and disgusting he was being. This was dumb, this was cheesy and the card was cheesy. It was so cheesy, maybe he should have just grated it into some pasta and given it to Marco like that instead. Same effect, more productive.

But Jean breathed in and out a few times and ignored all of the cynical second thoughts. He was going to do this, and it'd be fine because even if Marco thought it was stupid, he would never know it was Jean. So, gathering up all of his courage, Jean peeked outside of the bathroom to make sure no one was looking. The coast was clear, and so he made his move.

As quickly and quietly as he could, Jean gently slipped the envelope through the top slits of the locker and then ducked straight back into the bathroom. Now, all he had to do was wait. Wait for Marco to get to school, and then watch him find the letter. There was no fear of Marco going into the bathroom, because boy's bathrooms are disgusting and Marco always made an effort to use the bathroom before leaving for school every morning. Jean thought he was such a smart guy. Smart and cute, super duper cute. And then Jean wanted to kick himself for being so sick with affection again.

He waited for seven minutes, which Jean knew because he kept looking at his phone every ten seconds in impatience, before his target had arrived. Jean could feel his heart pounding as he watched from the cracked open door, and for a moment he almost wished he didn't put the letter in Marco's locker. But then Marco noticed it and Jean felt like everything had stopped except for Marco. Nothing mattered except what Marco was going to do next. Nothing else even felt _real_.

Marco looked confused, but then he opened the envelope and looked inside the letter. After a second of squinting at the tiny cursive writing, Marco's face went red and he immediately closed the letter and placed it back in his locker quietly. Jean had no idea what that meant. So, Marco didn't laugh, but that doesn't mean he thought it was good. What if Marco was blushing because he was feeling a disgusting amount of embarrassment? What if he wanted to laugh and his face was red from containing the wailing? What if? What if anything not good? That's all Jean's mind was filled with as he watched Marco walk away as if nothing happened. And damn was it torture to not know how Marco felt.

* * *

 

Nothing. Marco said nothing. Not in any of their classes together, not when they bumped into each other in the hallways. Not on the phone or skype when Jean got home. Not the next day, or the day after that. Marco didn't mention the letter he'd found in his locker to Jean whatsoever in the past week, and it stressed Jean out like almost nothing else had before. Maybe Marco knew exactly who wrote the letter, and to spare Jean's feelings he was going to pretend he never found it. Or maybe Marco has no idea who wrote the letter, thinks it's a prank, and threw it away at some point.

Jean had no fucking clue, and the mix of doubt and pride had pushed him a little further away from his extreme adoration mode, and closer to boring normalcy. But just then Jean got a text from Marco, and Jean was fueled with gross adoring thoughts of Marco's sweet beautiful face and understanding personality. Jean felt his face heat up and he could swear he would melt in his room right there if he were made of anything other than bones, which cannot melt. But getting back to reality, Jean decided to actually read the text. He was terrified of what it might hold, but he was also a bit excited. What if Marco knew, and he felt the same way?

> "can you come over right now? :( pls i'm freaking out"

Or, maybe not. Jean stared at his phone screen until the screen saver turned on, and he started to breathe unevenly, freaking out himself. "Fuck me he fucking knows oh god what the fuck..." Jean cursed to himself as he paced around his room, scratching at his scalp with one hand and nervously squeezing his phone with the other. Worst case scenario: This was it. Marco must have found out and he's secretly anti-gay and wants Jean to fucking die but he has a heart of pure gold so he wants to make sure Jean didn't write it first. Yeah, that's it.

But Jean just squints and shakes his head, he knew that wasn't it. Marco was not that kind of person, plus, he'd never wish death on anybody. Probably. Yes it was just one big misunderstanding, that's all. So Jean repressed all his feelings and texted Marco that he'd be there soon, not even asking for details.

"Mooom! Are you busy?" Jean shouted as he left his room, looking down the hallway to see if his mom was there. She didn't like shouting, but depending on where she was in the house Jean would have to scream at the top of his lungs for her to hear him. Because it truly is just too much of a hassle to simply walks around the house for two minutes to find her.

Luckily though, Jean wouldn't have to do that, since his mother stepped out of the bathroom in response. "You don't have to yell when we're the only ones home Jeany, and yes I'm busy, I'm always busy! It's Saturday, I'm cleaning! Where's your laundry? You were supposed to give me a basket of your filthy clothes two days ago. Once I'm finished cleaning the tub I want to get all the clothes in the house clean, and then...." She trailed off as she turned around and stepped back into the bathroom. Jean didn't gather his clothes despite yes, being told already days ago, but he didn't have time for this.

"Mom, Marco texted me and he says he really needs me to come over to his house like, right now. Can you drive me? It'd take forever to walk there and it's already four so do you want me walking across Main Street when it's dark?" If there was any weakness that his mother had, it was the safety of her children. Which, Marco was included into because "he comes over so much he might as well be family".

Jean's mother shuffled out of the bathroom and had a stern look on her face, "Let me see this text." As if Jean would ever lie to her about something like this. Maybe he'd lie about homework, and doing chores, but he doesn't lie about Marco. At least, not about things Marco says. Jean lies all the time to his mother about how he feels about Marco. Regardless, Jean held up his phone so that she could clearly see that he wasn't lying.

She nodded, "Ohh alright alright. Fine get ready I'll be downstairs in a minute." With that, she stepped back into the bathroom to rinse whatever chemical cleaner was on the gloves. Jean had no idea what kind of situation would make Marco freak out aside from the love letter. There were no big tests coming up, no projects due, so either Marco's somehow involved in drugs or Jean's fucked. Those are the only two options. Both equally realistic in every way.

The car ride was intensely awkward as Jean's mother started to ask the same kinds of questions. Mothers are naturals at creating wild scenarios that kids could get into but probably didn't and never will. "Do you think he got a girl pregnant?" Jean slammed his hand on his heart and stared at his mother in disgust and shock, " _MOM!_ What kind of? What kind of question is that!? Marco doesn't have _sex_!" At least, Jean hoped not. At least not with a girl anyway. Jean wasn't sure what Marco's sexuality was, but if Marco slept with a guy then at least Jean would have some chance. Not that Jean was against "swinging both ways", after all, he was bi himself. No pun intended.

Jean's mother shrugged, "Well Jeany you just never know. You know what they say, it's always the quiet ones who make the mischief." Jean could argue that she's 100% wrong, because Jean outshines Marco in mischief/sinning. But Jean already made his peace with that, and he wasn't going to drag _that_ hellish nightmare into the open.

At last they had arrived, and Jean could get out of the car and away from his mother's god awful conspiracy theories as soon as possible. "Oh and Jean, tell Marco I said hello, okay? Be safe! Call me when you're done! Let me know if--" Jean didn't hear the rest because he ran to Marco's front door and walked in immediately. He wasn't up for hearing the end of his mother's sentence, whatever horror it might have been.

"Hello? Hey Marco, it's me Jean, I'm here!" Jean tried to sound as natural as possible, because letting people know you are nervous and afraid is like asking to be questioned and made uncomfortable. He was there for Marco, he had to act normal. Jean heard a door open and close from the left half of the house, and then, "Jean, oh good you're here! Get in here!" Marco's voice sounded so stressed and demanding, it wasn't like him at all.

Every scenario Jean went through in his head was an awful one, but he made his way towards Marco's voice anyway. By the time he got to the bathroom, Jean had weighed his options and upon great thought, decided the best case scenario was that Marco wanted to suck out Jean's soul and _not_ that Marco had found out Jean wrote the love letter. But there Marco was, staring at the bathroom mirror a little too closely. "Heyyyy.... buddy?" Jean questioned, wondering why the hell Marco would need to plaster his eyeballs to a mirror at all.

Marco turned around with a puzzled expression on his face, probably because Jean literally never called Marco "buddy", and it was weird. But Marco must not have thought it was important enough to inquire about, because he immediately pointed to the left side of his face, "Look! Look at this, Jean! It's awful!" It was a pimple.

Jean didn't know how to feel. "Dude you're freaking out over... a zit?" It's not like Marco hadn't had zits before, why freak out about this one? "Jean! Picture day is in _four days_. This thing is huge and red and _it's disgusting_." Normal mode Jean would have made a joke that yes, Marco's face was disgusting. But Jean was too overly affectionate to give the friendly insult a go.

It all clicked in Jean's head when Marco explained. Of course he's upset about one lousy red dot on his face. Picture day was very important to Marco's family, despite the fact that you don't need a special day at school to take pictures to remember the past when you can just buy your own camera and have a Kodak Moment at home.

"Yeah I mean, it's pretty damn red. But why exactly did you text me?" Jean had been worried for his life for no good reason! Not that he had a good reason before he knew what Marco's problem was, but Jean felt slightly less important knowing that the big problem was a lack of understanding the directions on the bottle of Clean and Clear. "I thought you could help because you always have acne." Marco explained further, earning a frown from Jean. "You know, you're lucky you're cute." As soon as Jean had said that, he felt his heart pound and his brain freeze.

Marco only smiled, "Ha ha, yeah really funny. I'm serious Jean, I don't know what to do about this thing, it's not going to go away any time soon and this thing just appeared when I woke up this morning. I've been trying all day to get rid of it and nothing's working!" Jean was saved because of Marco's innocence. Praise the Lord. Thank the holy Heavens above. God bless America. Jean was spared, his praying those few months ago must have really worked.

Jean breathed out a sigh of relief, "Okay well that thing probably isn't going away so you'll just have to make it look less red. Maybe we should try putting some eyeliner on it, and camouflage it as a freckle." Although, by mentioning Marco's freckles, Jean remembered the love letter he wrote and had to look away to hide his blushing. Then after thinking about dead puppies and Donald Trump, he had a straight face again. Seeing that Marco wasn't amused by the idea, Jean rolled his eyes and grabbed Marco's arm, "Alright let's go, we're going to CVS to get you some kind of foundation to make it disappear."

Maybe he wasn't an expert at applying makeup, but Jean would get the worst break outs in acne. He had learned by now how to cover up the worst of it, or at least the _color_ of it. At this point, he had enough acne scars on his face to cover that without foundation, Jean could pass them off for freckles. But no, Marco got to be the hot one with the freckles and minimal acne, and cute little nose, and soft hair, and the really relaxing voice.

Marco shook his head, refusing to budge, "Wait what no, we're not going to CVS, can't we just use my sister's makeup? Makeup is expensive I'm not buying some just for one day!" Jean wanted to tell him gently that he'd regret this choice in the future, but he didn't really wanna walk to CVS anyway. "Ooookay then. It's not that expensive at CVS but sure." Jean asked, letting go of Marco's arm and scanning the sink counter. It was cluttered with all kinds of bath products, makeup, and hair care. He picked through it all until he found a few vaguely skin colored bottles.

"Bronzer, ew. Finishing powder, no. Tinted face lotion? Probably not dark enough to cover that pepperoni on your face." Jean listed off as he checked the labels, slightly envious that the women in Marco's family could afford god damned Sephora shit that his own mother wouldn't buy for him. Jean was forced to settle for drug store makeup and Wal-Mart brand make up remover because according to Jean's mother he's "fine just the way he is".

Finally finding a few concealers and foundations, Jean gestured for Marco to sit down on the tub rim. This way, Jean would have better access to Marco's face, because Marco of course got to be Mr. Tall sweet and handsome. Unlike Jean, who's short, bitter and full of pizza face and unspeakable sins. It just wasn't fair, but Jean had to get this over and done with.

None of the makeup really matched Marco's skin tone, but if he wanted to be stubborn and not walk to the store, so be it. He could look like a slightly over baked chocolate chip cookie on picture day. The thought of Marco as a chocolate chip cookie made the butterflies in Jean swirl around again, and he hated it. Such stupid, lame thoughts. It was weak and gross and it needed to get lost. But then, imagining a batch of chocolate chip cookies that all looked like little Marco faces was just, funny to Jean. Then he thought of biting one in half and it being warm and sweet, and kind of crunchy and gooey...

"Jean are you done yet? Can you still see the red?" Marco asked, bringing Jean out of his short Marco eating fantasy. "Huh? Oh uh, yeah you're fine." Jean muttered, taking a step back and standing up straight again. Marco got up and looked in the mirror, closely reexamining his face. "Well I can totally tell that you put that stuff on my face, but you're right! It looks fine!" Marco turned around, and his smile was like an arrow through the heart. Jean inhaled a little, resisting the desire to collapse into Marco's general direction and tell Marco how beautiful and precious his smile was. Jean just wanted to give Marco a hug. Snuggle a bit, maybe. Talk about how much they loved and appreciated each other?

Marco grabbed the foundation bottle out of Jean's hand, "Thannnk you, I'm gonna put this in my room so I'll remember I have to use this one specifically, I'll be right back! Sit in the living room I think we should watch a movie or something." Just like that, Marco was out the door and Jean could breathe again. Of course, with no real focus, Jean decided to do exactly what Marco suggested and dragged himself to the living room couch.

Again, Jean was overwhelmed with adoration and affectionate thoughts. Marco was too damn cute. Too sweet and innocent. Too good for Jean, who was a filthy sinning bag of trash. He wished the feelings would calm down, to go back to normal. He couldn't handle these emotional punches to the gut. The prickling feeling of the hairs on the back of his neck standing up when he thought of Marco's laugh. The way breathing felt heavier when he imagined holding Marco's hand. "Someone should just fuckin stab me." Jean sighed to himself, resting his head on the back of the couch. Can't feel that weak cuddly snuggles crap if you're bleeding out now can you?

"Okay! What do you wanna watch?" Marco asked as he came into the living room, walking over to the PS4 to turn it on. Jean for a brief moment thought they might be getting into some Netflix and chill territory but, yeah, that wasn't going to happen. Jean just shrugged, "I dunno, nothing involving emotional stuff though. I don't wanna feel sad today I don't have the energy for that shit." He was lying, he totally did have the energy for it. He just didn't want there to be something sad or romantic that made him crumble into a ball of blubbering emotional cheese because he was so high on affectionate feelings for Marco.

"Sooo what you're saying is, we can watch Pacific Rim again?" Marco asked excitedly, picking up said movie's DVD case. Jean shook his head, "Uh uh, not that again. We've watched that dozens of times Marco. It's a good movie but god damn, I can probably quote the whole thing by now." At first Jean was going to stay firm in his decision, but then he saw the pout on Marco's face as he put the case down, and again Jean could feel his heart flutter. "Okay f-fine, we'll watch Pacific Rim again just stop with that face! Honestly, after fixing your pimple problem you gotta drag out the cut- theee uha h the puppy dog face!" Jean stammered in an attempt to keep his "cute" fumble unnoticed.

Marco perked up immediately, practically ripping open the case before very gently taking the disc out of it. After he put in the disc, he grabbed the controller and the T.V. remote and sat next to Jean on the couch with a smile, "I guess you'll just do anything I want, huh?" He was joking of course, but Jean nodded anyway. "Yeah, Marco Bodt; Expert manipulator of Jeans." It wasn't even a really well thought out comeback, but it made Marco laugh anyway. Jean dug his nails into his thigh to try and keep himself from blushing with embarrassment. Why was he embarrassed? He had no fucking idea why.

The sound of Marco's genuine laughter just made Jean shiver on the inside and feel really _good_ about having made Marco happy enough to laugh like that. It was stupid and dumb and Jean was being stupid and dumb, and the entire affection thing was stupid. Love was stupid. Love's dumb he should go back to masturbating about Marco shamelessly at 1 in the morning and then forgetting about it the next day, the whole romance thing was just pissing him off.

Throughout the evening, Jean couldn't resist inching closer to Marco, but he did it sneakily. Going to use the bathroom or getting something from the kitchen, then coming back and sitting slightly closer to Marco. By the end of the movie, though, it seemed to have backfired. "Jean you were up for like half of the movie... We have to watch it again." Marco insisted slyly, turning away from Jean's grumpy face. "If I fall asleep the second time you play the movie are you going to wake me up and make me watch it again?"

Marco sucked in his lips and shook his head, but Jean was no idiot, he knew Marco only did that when he was lying. The smug jerk, did he think he could bat his little eyelashes and think Jean will just roll over? Well yes, that's exactly what he could do and it would succeed every time. "Ugh you're making me hate this movie. I'm gonna stop coming over if you keep this up yknow!" A lie, but Jean had to at least pretend he was being firm, as if he didn't want any excuse to snuggle up next to Marco at night.

Half way through the movie again, Jean was actually getting pretty tired. He liked the movie when it came out, and the first 10 times he watched it, but he was so bored of it now, and it was getting late. Marco seemed to notice Jean's sleepiness, "Hey Jean? You wanna spend the night here?" The idea sounded amazing and awful at the same time. On one hand he could watch Marco sleep, which yes, was a little creepy but Marco looked so cute when he snored. On the other hand, Jean wasn't sure he'd be able to handle his yearning for Marco to hold him at night, and that he'd end up spilling the beans on his feelings for Marco too soon.

"Uh, nah. I'll call my mom to pick me up once the movie's over." Jean yawned, stretching and readjusting himself so that he wasn't as close to Marco. Sleeping over would end badly, so Jean couldn't sit so close to Marco and get second thoughts and ruin everything for himself. Even though it was what Jean wanted, he didn't think the risk was worth it. He wasn't ready to fully and openly confess his feelings, that's why he wrote the anonymous love letter. If he's going to tell Marco, it has to be when he's clear headed and _not_ when he's sick with puppy love.

 

When Jean finally returned home, he felt incredibly sad. No, not sad. Lonely. And it was such a gross kind of lonely, because Jean knew it couldn't be solved by spending time with friends and family, or talking to people online. No, he was feeling needy for attention and a special kind of loving he'd never actually experienced but knew he wanted. Now that he was in the privacy of his own room at night, though, he could let all of his constricted fidgeting and whining out. He slipped into his bed and under the covers and very gracefully screamed into his pillow. Multiple times, just to be sure.

Jean bunched up half of the blankets next to him and hugged them to his chest, squeezing and stroking the mush of fabric until he could relax some more. He'd heard of sexual tension, but this was like, affectionate tension, and it was horrible. Jean knew that suppressing his emotions was unhealthy, and if he couldn't bring himself to fall apart and confess all of his gross feelings to Marco, he'd have to do it now or never.

"Hhhm, he's... god fucking damn it," Jean moaned into his pile of blankets, trying to calm down before he broke and made the mistake of texting Marco all of his real feelings. Just to make sure he didn't do it later at night by mistake, Jean tossed his phone onto the floor. There's no way even half-asleep Jean would have the energy to pick up something off the floor. No, the phone was as good as gone until tomorrow.

He started to gently rub his feet together, because he remembered hearing somewhere that it helps relieve pain. Maybe it'd help with emotional pain too. It didn't seem to be working very well, because Jean started wringing his hands together underneath the blankets, trying to distract his emotional pain with a little bit of physical. "Ohhh god you _piece of shit_ stop it. Ughn cmon stop. Stop thinking about him just fuckin', fuck god damn it." Jean hissed into his blanket mound, squeezing his eyes shut. He refused to cry over this, he was 16 years old, he wasn't going to cry just because a boy didn't like him.

"Fuck he's so cute I just," Jean stopped, trying to take deep breaths. "I wanna _kiss him._ " Jean felt so stupid, fantasizing this much about snuggling and cuddling with his best friend. He pulled one of his hands out from under the blankets to wipe the small amount of tears from his eyes, and wiped the tears off onto his face, because that's the best way to clear oils from your skin and Jean makes use of his own weak little tears any time they appear. He may be sad but his skin's gonna be soft in a few hours.

Jean looked at his hand and bit his lip, telling himself over and over again in his mind not to do the thing. "The thing" being what he always does when he's feeling lonely and sorry for himself; Kissing his own hand to pretend someone else is there to tell him there's no reason to be crying like the little emotional baby that he is. Jean opts for biting down on his index finger instead, not too hard, just enough to make the urge to kiss himself go away. He won't sink to that pathetic nonsense again, he's not a 13 year old learning how to kiss on the back of his own hand anymore.

He flipped onto his back, which had been itching and shivering since he laid down. There was no one there to spoon him, so he had to get the itch for affection by rubbing his back on his own mattress instead, until the sensation went away and he could stop whining. Jean took a minute to breathe before sliding the top half of his body off the bed, and he started to look around on the floor for his phone. When he got it, he pulled himself back up to his mattress and stared at Marco's number in his contact list.

Everything in his mind was telling him not to be a dumbass, not to call Marco, because he would just screw things up and probably start crying and talking about his feelings. But his fingers said "do it", and so he did. Jean held the phone up to his hear, each ring of the phone making him doubt the choice each time. He promised, on the next ring he'd hang up. "Jean?" Marco answered, there was no going back now.

"Uh... I just wanted to make sure you uh..." Jean didn't know what he was going to say. What the hell was he thinking? He didn't have any plan going into this, he just knew not to talk about his feelings. What else was he supposed to talk about now though? "Did you put the foundation in a safe place in your room?" Jean asked dumbly, hoping it sounded like a reasonable thing to call at 11 p.m. for. "Yeah! Were you that worried? You could have just asked me tomorrow, I wasn't gonna lose it y'know. I don't misplace eeeverything that's smaller than a soda can."

Jean gasped and he felt his eyes tingle. Great, he was getting emotional, because Marco what, referenced how forgetful he can be sometimes? "Okay goodnight." Jean forced out of his mouth, trying to hold back his stupid tears. "'Night Jean! Talk to you t--" Jean hung up and dropped his phone on the floor before shoving his head into his bunch of blankets and crying. He was so dumb, crying over nothing. If he were a woman at least he could blame it on PMS or whatever the hell it is. What's his excuse? Small gay asshole is a little sensitive sometimes?

"Fuck!" Jean hissed, slamming his fist down on his mattress. He took some deep breaths, pulled his blankets over his head, and tried to relax. He'd feel better in the morning, he always did after stupid mini melt downs over stupid shit. Jean felt like it was okay to be shameful and petty when he was completely alone under his covers, and if it meant he could get some temporary peace it was fine. He intertwined the fingers of his hands together and pretended someone else was holding his hand. But he couldn't pretend it was Marco's, Marco's hands were soft and warm and bigger than Jean's.

But it helped him calm down enough to stop crying, so it was okay.

* * *

 

All good things come to an end. Or at least, semi-good things? Jean's love-hate relationship with his obsessive adoration phases always ended the same way as they always did; Disappointing and empty. Which sounds depressing, but not really. Jean was very happy to be rid of the butterflies that had infested his skin, body, and head. Yeah, he cried and it was pathetic and a little sad, but Jean could forgive himself for that.That's just what happens when he gets overly emotional. The same kind of thing happens if he gets too angry about something-- He cries himself to sleep after angrily punching his pillow a lot like a child.

He was even regretting the love letter he wrote, because normally he wouldn't have been so desperate and thirsty for Marco to notice him to go through such a weird, roundabout way of making sure Marco knew that someone thought he was beautiful. Just thinking about what he wrote made Jean cringe. It might as well have been like the Harry Potter fanfiction he wrote when he was 12. Those were some wild times.

Picture day was yesterday, he thought he looked pretty good. Marco must not have been lying when he said he didn't lose the foundation, either, because his volcano was barely noticeable. Over all, things worked out fine for Jean, now all he had to do was make sure he never fell into adoration Hell again, and he'd be fine.

Jean walked into the bathroom and began his nightly routine, the cleansing of things besides the soul. As he brushed his teeth, he stared at himself in the mirror. Flecks of toothpaste and spit kept dirtying the view, but it was already filthy enough as it was. His acne was absolutely gross this month, all over his temples and chin. "Disgusti--" Jean accidentally dropped his toothbrush and it fell into the sink. He closed his eyes and breathed, determined not to get grumpy over something so small. However, Jean was too lazy to wash it, so he just spit what toothpaste was left in his mouth into the sink and vowed to properly brush his teeth tomorrow morning.

"You only cried a little bit after having a disgusting emotional breakdown over your little gay fantasies. Good job, me." Jean congratulated his reflection, giving it a thumbs up and everything. Which was totally lame, but no one was there to tell him that. He was a free man, he could do whatever the hell he wanted.

It was shower time. Reflection of life choices time. Regret time, mostly. Jean turned the shower nob as far to the red side as possible, so that he could boil all his worries away. After Jean pulled all his clothes off, he again looked at himself in the mirror. As much as Jean hated his face, he couldn't really say the same about the rest. He wasn't ripped or anything, he wasn't even perfectly skinny. Jean guessed it was what normal people call being comfortable with your body, but for Jean it sometimes went a step further. Jean thought he was attractive, he had that hourglass figure girls seem to wanna have so much.

But ogling at his own body wasn't really his thing either, and even though he forgave himself for be a whiny little baby a few days ago, there was still that hit to his pride. The thought that Marco wasn't interested in him, either sexually or romantically, ticked him off a little. Not that he blamed Marco, but he was still allowed to be upset about it. Jean stepped into the shower and sighed in satisfaction at the scalding hot water. He read somewhere that cold showers were more healthy, but, so is kale. And Jean would die before he ate kale.

At first Jean just stood in the shower, soaking in all the hot water and letting it strip away the surface dirt and oils off him. He looked down at himself and wondered for a moment if he'd fuck himself if he got the chance, but then immediately shivered. He was convinced that it would be better to maybe not think about sex as much as he used to.

Eventually Jean sat down in the shower, just leaning against the tiles and letting the water assault his stomach. He of course, was using his hands to protect his valuable assets. Most of his body could handle the heat but _those_ definitely could not. Jean imagined many times how he would explain to an ambulance why his dick and balls had second degree burns on them, and each time he promised he'd never have to explain something like that to anyone. Normally Jean would read shampoo bottles while soaking in the shower, but his eyes landed on his razor blade.

It was being held up with one of those fancy suction cup attachments, straight up, perfectly erect. Erect. Like a dick? Jean snorted and shut his eyes, he wasn't gonna go there. No way. He wasn't going to.

"How soft...?" Jean reached up and grabbed his razor from its hold, smoothing his fingers all over it. He bit his lip and squinted, wondering if he was going to go there. "I deserve it, I haven't masturbated in forever." Jean decided, scooting backwards towards the shower knob to switch it to a cooler setting. He couldn't masturbate _and_ protect his dick from hot water at the same time. Understanding the risk of accidentally slicing up his fingers, Jean took the razor part off the handle and put it back in the razor holder. It felt a little soapy, so Jean scrubbed the handle with his fingers first, just to be sure.

"Oh, lube...." Jean remembered with a sigh, standing up and pulling away the shower curtain to grab some Vaseline from the sink counter. Good ol' Vaseline. It was a pain in the ass to clean out of himself but what else was he gonna do? Use soap? Go in dry with nothing but H2O looking out for him? Not a chance.

Jean stabbed the razor handle into the tub of not-lube and swirled it around to get as much on it as possible. The thing was thin enough, sure, but it had so many bumps and ridges and curves, he had to get every corner of it covered. When he was sure it was good and slippery enough, Jean slowly lowered himself back to the safety of the shower floor, leaning back against the wall to plan out his strategy.

But then he thought, why fix what's not broken? He should just treat it like he normally treats sticking things into his ass. And he wonders why he never thought to grab his razor all those months ago, when really, it's the perfect shape. Maybe a little too much on the thin side, but so what? It's got bumps and ridges and it's not the thickness of a soda can. Which means it's realistically dick-like. Kinda.

Jean spread his legs as far as he could in the narrow space, and used his left hand to keep him steady. Slipping around would have been the death of him. As soon as Jean started to slide the handle along his entrance, Jean got excited and tilted his head back, except he banged his head on the wall instead. "Fuck!" He dropped the razor handle to bring his hand up and rub the spot on his head he'd just assaulted. Maybe he should have checked how close his back was to the wall before going into amateur porn star mode, or, he could take it as a sign to stop what he's doing before he fucks up. There's a reason people don't actually have sex in the shower.

Deciding he needed to try another position, Jean grabbed the razor handle and then got on all fours. He again, brought the handle to his asshole and started to rub the handle across it. All of the bumps and ripples were better than anything he'd tried before. His fingers had callouses, sure, but this was a smooth kind of texture, it wasn't rough at all. He began to slide the end of the handle inside of him, and Jean gasped with excitement, ecstatic that it was going in so smoothly. He pushed it in further and then went to bend his head down to bite on his wrist so that he wouldn't make too much noise. 

Instead he hit the rim of the tub, and his knees buckled from the pain, which made Jean's entire body slip and flop onto his right side. His head and right ribs were _killing_ him. "Ohhh my fuckinhg... god damnit fuck." Jean whimpered in pain, holding his head in his hands. It was okay though, this just meant he needed a towel or a washcloth to rest his head on when he did this, that was fine. He could do that.

Jean sat up and aggressively slapped the shower curtain away, and stood up to get out. He was in such a rush that he didn't lift his first leg up enough and hit it on the tub, causing him to yet again, slip and fall. But this time he was halfway out of the shower and his arms got the most of the damage. Jean sobbed into the bath mat and blinked away his tears, "Mother fucking, razor handle's made of the same fuckin things as a dildo. It's got squishy bits and it's got the bumpy things, I'm gonna fuck myself with it damn it." He growled as he got back up again and slinked back into the somewhat safety of the shower.

"Jeany! Is everything alright in there!?" Jean's mother asked, knocking on the door repeatedly. "Uh, yeah mom! It's just shampoo bottles!" Jean covered for himself, slapping a few bottles of body wash onto the shower floor for emphasis. Once he was sure that his mother was gone, Jean got back to business. "Alright okay let's try this again..." Jean whispered, laying down completely flat on the shower floor. There was no fucking way he was going to slip and break his pride again.

He wiggled and crunched his fingers on each hand, seeing which one would be stronger for thrusting the razor handle into his ass. Is a person ambidextrous if they're only flexible with their hands during masturbation? Because if so, Jean's confident in his ambidextrous skills. He alternates his hands all the time when he's touching himself, it's practically the same thing. Jean ultimately decided that for the ferocity he wanted to feel fucked, going with his dominant right was the best option. He held the top of the razor in between his index and middle finger tightly, making sure it wasn't going to slip out during the good parts.

Jean closed his eyes and started to get to work, pushing the entirety of the razor handle in at once before some other bullshit could come and ruin his night. Instinctively, his hips started moving, but he tried to keep it to a minimum. Today he wanted to start off slow. Because that was sexier, and not because he was afraid he'd accidentally stab a hole in his inner ass lining if he went too hard or fast. Because he heard someone did that once with a carrot. "Oh!" Jean gasped, opening his eyes, "I should have used a carrot, not a banana...." But he couldn't change the past, so he just closed his eyes again and contemplated what kind of sin of a fantasy he wanted to experience.

Too impatient to wait for a creative scenario to come to mind, Jean slowly started to pull the handle out of him, and the ripples and grips on the handle felt fan-fucking-tastic on his insides. Jean breathed out of his mouth and started to gently scratch at his hips to keep them from moving too much. If his nipples weren't completely desensitized to touch from the hot water earlier, he'd be focusing on them instead. He thought about moving his hand to his dick, but it seemed too soon for that. He could wait.

As Jean got more comfortable with the slow push and pull of the razor handle, he got more aroused, and was having trouble keeping quiet. He wasn't alone in the house now, he _had_ to be quiet. He took his hand away from his hips and brought his wrist up to his mouth, biting it gently so that he'd muffle most of his noises. Sure the running water and fan helped muffle the noise, but it's not like they made the bathroom soundproof.

Jean struggled not to buck his hips and thrust the handle too hard, but it was such a thin little thing, even with all of the amazing ridges on it. He took a moment to turn the handle to the side before continuing, and he groaned into his wrist. The way every little bump, grip, and ridge tickled his insides was almost too much for him to handle so soon. It's not like Jean wanted to get over stimulated, then he'd probably be exhausted, and exhausted meant lazy, which meant he wouldn't be putting his all into fucking himself. No good orgasms come out of half-assed masturbation.

But it just felt so good, he wanted to try more. Jean gently pushed down on the handle as he pushed it in him the next time, and he immediately let his left hand drop as he inhaled a sharp breath of air. "God damn...." He whined, forcing his hand back to his mouth as he started to thrust the handle into him faster, still pushing it down the whole time. The handle seemed long enough, he could probably touch his prostate if he tried hard enough. The idea aroused Jean more, making his already neglected dick even more desperate for attention.

He couldn't take it anymore, the long waiting. Jean was already going so fast with the handle, so he let his left hand slide down to start stroking it, and all Jean could do to contain his gasps and whines was bite his lips. He tried to be slow about it, to savor it, but it was so hard. _He_ was hard. Jean began to pull the handle up instead of pushing it down as he thrust it in him, and he let out a long whine in pleasure. This was just as good, but it was in a different spot now. "Sh-shit! Fuck me, ahnn, _god_ this is good..." Jean whined to himself as he began to stroke his dick faster.

Jean didn't know if there was precum dripping off of it or not with all the water that was hitting it, but he knew he felt good, that it all felt good. He didn't even care about the uncomfortable porcelain floor he had to lay on at this point. Jean's hips kept shifting, and his legs were trying to hard to help thrust them upward but the water was making it impossible to do that. Jean whined in dissatisfaction, so he started to thrust the handle even faster, twisting it gently in between his fingers as he did so. He was breathing so hard, rubbing his fingers roughly across the tip of his dick and sliding them down his shaft again.

"Oh fuck!" Jean moaned loudly and slapped his left hand onto his mouth in embarrassment. He couldn't do this if he didn't have something to cover his mouth. Usually a pillow or some blankets would do the trick, but he was in the shower. Even a towel would just fill with water and end up flooding his mouth and nose with water. Jean had no choice, he had to change his position.

Slowly, he pulled the razor handle out of him, whining as he did so. He didn't want to start all over, but he couldn't finish this in his bedroom or try again another day. He wanted it now, and he wanted it in the shower.

Jean got on all fours again, but this time he lowered himself down to the ground so he wouldn't slip. This would be a challenge, to thrust the razor handle into him so fast with so much pressure like before but by reaching his arm behind his back to do it. He just couldn't let anyone else in the house hear him, it would be like suicide.

Setting his left arm down in front of him, Jean tried to spread his legs again, but there was less space at the bottom of the tub than near the top, and his knees felt squished. This wasn't really sexy at all, he'd need a good fantasy to take his mind off the obvious problems with his set up. For now though, Jean tried to rile himself up again. It took more finesse with his right wrist, but Jean managed to get into a slow rhythm with the razor handle. He exhaled, and the breath turned into a low drawn out moan as he felt the rubber creases glide across his insides all over again. 

He slowly began to speed it up as he got used to the new angle, and even started to twist it around again. Jean was a squirming mess, but the confined walls of the tub gave him no wiggle room, and so he was trapped. He couldn't thrust his hips, he could only shift them around from side to side.

It was good, really good, but, not enough. Now that he couldn't pay any more attention to his dick, he needed to think of some kind of sexy fantasy sooner rather than later, and that's when Marco popped into his mind. Jean bit his lip and thought about it for a minute. It's not like he hadn't fantasized about having sex with Marco before, but he'd just gotten over an emotional breakdown about Marco. It was probably a terrible idea to think about him in a sexual way.

But then Jean thought about all of the things that had upset him before about Marco. His soft, warm hands, how tall he was, his sweet laugh, that adorable face.... Jean took the next step into shameless territory and let his mind imagine and picture Marco being the one to make Jean feel this way. Part of knowing that Marco would never do this, that he shouldn't even be thinking about it, made the fantasy that much more arousing for Jean.

Jean closed his eyes and continued to thrust the razor handle in and out of him, pretending that Marco was there with him, fucking him. The inability to move, that was all Marco too, holding Jean still and telling him he better not move "or else".  Jean shivered and whined into his wrist as the fantasy started to feel more real.

He kept thrusting the handle into him faster, twisting it, pausing, and then pushing into himself as far as it could go without him letting go of it. But in his mind, it was all a part of Marco's little game, to tease him and make him wait. He remembered Marco's laugh, his giggling, and imagined that Marco was having fun with this. With watching Jean try to squirm and keep his moans to a minimum.

Jean wanted so badly to be able to touch his dick to speed things along, but he convinced himself that no, Marco wouldn't want that. He'd want Jean to suffer for a little longer without any attention there despite how badly Jean would have begged him for it had Marco really been there. Jean's breaths were uneven and heavy, and he just couldn't handle this version of Marco. No, he wouldn't be _this_ cruel. So Jean pulled his left arm away from the floor and over to his dick.

He fantasized that Marco was saying sweet things into his ear, like how much he liked to hear Jean's moans and whines. Now that he was stroking his dick again, Jean felt like he was getting close to coming, and that excited him. It excited Marco, because Marco was being so kind and generous now, because he wanted Jean to enjoy it all.  Because Marco just loved watching Jean beg but he loved watching Jean whimper with pleasure _even more_. Jean's thrusts and stroking got faster and more erratic, as did his breathing. "Fuck. Fff.. Oooh fuck _me_ fuckfuckfuckfff...nhh." Jean whined, trying so hard to be quiet.

But Marco wouldn't like quiet, he loved the way Jean's voice sounded. He wouldn't want Jean to be silent. No, he wanted Jean to enjoy getting fucked and to scream how much he loved it. Marco would thrust his very hardest into Jean _just_ to hear Jean make the smallest of sounds. Because Marco _fucking loved_ Jean.

"Marco! Nnggm fuck _oh god ohh god ffuck me_... hhmmm." Jean screamed as he came, the lower half of his body shivering from the release. Or maybe, it was because the water had gotten cold since Jean had been running the water for so long. But Jean wasn't focused on that, he was too busy panting and feeling dirty, and not in a good way. How loud did he scream and moan that last time, anyway? Jean didn't want to know, he just hoped everyone was asleep by now that they wouldn't have heard.

The cold water was certainly helping Jean calm down and come back to reality. Jean blinked a few times and then pulled the razor handle out of him, and slid onto his left side. He let the water wash all the cum off of his hand and arm. The cool water felt nice on his abdomen, which definitely got its work out. Showers were supposed to be about getting clean, and all Jean did was masturbate and fantasize about his innocent best friend fucking him like an animal.

"I'm so gross... I deserve to have acne." Jean muttered, trying to force away the fantasy he created from his memory. First he lets Marco drink an ass smoothie, and now he's fantasizing about Marco not only fucking him, but telling him how much he loves him. "Ohhh god I'm disgusting." Jean closed his eyes and thought about how much of a weirdo and a creep he must have been. He was positive that Marco must masturbate, even if only a little bit. But there was no way he'd imagine something like what Jean just had.

The cool water was getting uncomfortably close to absolute 0 minus another ten degrees, so Jean peeled himself off the cold floor and turned the shower off. The only noise was the fan, and Jean's breathing. It felt like the world was just sitting back and giving Jean an extra moment to question his poor life choices. Very slowly, to avoid a repeat of earlier, Jean tried to stand up. His knees were numb, his thighs were stiff, and his lower legs felt like ice. Needless to say, he was a bit wobbly. Still, Jean persevered and stepped out of the tub one leg at a time.

He ripped the towel off the rack and wrapped it around him lazily, since he just wanted to go curl up in his warm bed and forget the night had ever happened. He hadn't washed his hair, or his body, or his face. What a sinful waste of a good shower. Jean kicked his clothes to the corner of the bathroom and tossed his razor blade handle into the trash. He wasn't interested in holding onto that thing anymore. He wiped the greasy leftover Vaseline, what little had been left of it, on his towel and yanked the bathroom door open.

Usually he'd be assaulted with cold air, but apparently the only steam Jean had been feeling for half of his shower was purely sexual. As Jean made his way back to his bedroom, he wondered if he should pray to God for forgiveness again, like the last time he masturbated. But why should he? It wasn't like he did anything too bad, aside form his fantasy. That was something he'd have to forgive himself for and then maybe someday, ask Marco to forgive him for being so disgusting. 

Jean dropped his towel on the floor beside his bed and he slipped under his soft covers. He wasn't a fan of sleeping nude, but he was exhausted and quite frankly, he felt so dirty that the idea of putting any clothes on seemed counter productive. On the edge of falling asleep, Jean thought about how he'd imagined Marco's dick in his fantasy, and wondered how he equated its size to the smallness of the razor blade handle. As bad as Jean felt it was to have fantasized about Marco in that way, now he was curious. What did Marco's dick even look like? Maybe it has freckles too, but that would make it cute.

Unable to handle the idea of a dick being "cute", Jean threw the covers over his head and tried to fall asleep. Maybe he'd ask Marco in the morning.

**Author's Note:**

> Vaseline isn't lube, razor blade handles aren't dildos, showers/tubs aren't made for sexy times. Also, do what Jean did, kids! Let your emotions out in ways that don't hurt other people. Even if that means crying a lot. Crying's good! Wasn't lying about the soft skin and tears either, try it some time. Sad soul = soft skin.


End file.
